


Bastion Loses His Fucking Shit

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gore, Insanity, Robots, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 23:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ganymede dies and bastion goes full john wick





	Bastion Loses His Fucking Shit

A shattering pop echoed through the woods. Bastion watched silently as Ganymede's chest frayed apart into a rain of blood, bone, and feathers. He didn't react for a moment.

Quietly, Bastion glanced over to the corpse. It was limp and cold already. The body was still soft, yet completely devoid of life, and the spine was forced into a sharp curve, bleeding profusely. Occasionally, the wind would rush underneath what remained of the bird's downy fluff, tossing and flicking it in the breeze.

Bastion slowly turned his head to McCree. McCree holstered the .22, and then pointed at Hanzo.

Hanzo shrugged.

Bastion stared quietly for a moment. The plating around his eye appeared to be leaking, now. It was an inky black substance, gently dripping and coursing its way to the base of the robot's face. The two humans immediately began to back away.

Bastion shuddered. He _felt_ something. He wasn't sure what, but it _hurt_.

He didn't want to run away this time. He was tired of hiding it. He always knew who and _what_ he was. He knew what he could _do_. Willfully, he gave himself to the instinct.

McCree could barely choke out a single word as the machine's eye flipped over to a hellish red hue.

_"Run."_

Bastion calmly began to give chase at a steady 12 mph. The legs fell under stress, hardly able to withstand the sheer, powerful shock of the weight— but Bastion kept running. Nothing could ever, ever hurt more than losing Ganymede. Perhaps the edgelord feels nothing because he feels _everything_.

The rocky, harsh terrain left the humans at a disadvantage, although they were faster. McCree soon caught the toe of his boot beneath a tree branch, immediately slamming face-first into the gravel, forcing the air from his lungs. A sudden, sick feeling of terror bolted through his chest when he realized he'd die not in a brave sundown standoff, nor in a grisly shootout— instead, he'd die brutally and mercilessly like a little bitch in a slasher film.

Hanzo hesitated for a moment. He briefly considered crossing the line between bravery and stupidly, but something held him back. He could only watch. McCree had finally begun to pull himself to his feet, lighting a single spark of hope, until the machine brought its weight upon his legs. A wet, shrill crack echoed through the woods, as McCree's inhuman screams faded into whines and whimpers.

Bastion wasn't quite focused on killing efficiently anymore. He wasn't a _mindless_ killer, as he was perfectly aware. _Too_ aware. He didn't just want to satisfy a program with the shallow registration of death, anymore. He wanted them to _fear_ and he wanted them to _hurt._ Just like him.

Hanzo still hadn't moved. He couldn't look away.

There was a quick, raspy choke as Bastion brought his hand to McCree's chest, immediately pulling the human backwards and up towards his own body. McCree's legs had immediately dislocated in a sequence of deep, tearing pops, heard clearly over the haunting silence. McCree was going into full shock, suffering so much internal bleeding that he was dizzily losing his vision.

Bastion brought his foot forward, crushing McCree's pelvis in an instant. In an eerily calculated movement, he lowered his hand and began to grip McCree's soft, lower body. Eagerly, he tore into the flesh with his knuckles, immediately searching for something to grab ahold of. McCree's heart beat only a few times more, until Bastion had taken ahold of the spinal column, jerking and twisting until he'd torn the man in fucking half.

Emotionlessly, Bastion let the upper torso slide from his hand. It plopped onto the cold, dry ground, stirring up dust and pine needles as a glossy flood of human viscera gushed from it, caking the dirt with fluid.

Bastion turned to Hanzo, whilst curiously tilting his head. Hanzo didn't run.


End file.
